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Talk:Nova/@comment-24559851-20150503054003/@comment-25065826-20150503204315
That was fun. Those two were very different. The girl, Cara, was so kind, and obviously understood people well, she seemed caring and actually thoughtful. The boy, however, was almost like an emotionless shell of a person, staring constantly, with a blank face and eyes which bored into me. I don't think he was convinced by my weak act. In which case, he probably thinks I'm a little stupid and irritating anyway. The girl believed me, but I don't think she's naive as such, more of a trusting person. And she's meant to have been a Pluto mutant? I got a drink, anyway. With the empty flask, I try using my powers. To no prevail. It would seem like they've drugged me, stomped out my gravity control. But they, whoever I'm with, know about Mecca. They think it was all me, like everyone else. They know that I met those teenagers there, which would look like they were from the same, or a linked, organisation. And if they're in this base, I think I might be in for a beating... A face at the door. A visor-covered face, it would look like, who awkwardly opens the door and pushes it open, keeping his eyes on me at all time. I don't think my weak act will work with a soldier, so I act tough and a survivor instead. He puts a plastic plate on the ground in front of me, with a plastic fork shoved in the top. Delicious. I leap for the plate, savagely pulling the plate towards me in an act of animalistic-ness. The soldier is obviously a little put-off, so goes out of the door and leaves me to eat. Then food is better than that at Cloner's 'safe house', but is a lumpy mash of something or another. Appealing. A few hours later, and I'm left with my spotless plate, plastic fork and nothing else. I hold the fork absent-mindedly, twirling it in my fingers, wondering what the hell has happened with my life. Whatever has happened, it's busy. My life is none-stop, one shitty event after another, cartwheeling slowly into a crap-hole. Because, being me, I'm a very positive person. Tom is nowhere to be found. Hannah, also nowhere to be found. My dad, nowhere to be seen, and, oh, look, my mum is also nowhere to be seen. Emma, Johnny, Jordan, Taylor, all left behind, and here I am trying to blow up my salvation whilst in a prison cell. My life has fallen apart. My arm is slowly healing, or at least feels like it. Like it's burning up, but the fire is just turning to hot embers. Which, on the surface, looks more calm. But the embers are the hottest part of a fire. And just as I feel like I'm about to break down, a face at my door. And this guy doesn't look happy. In fact, he looks like he'd happily fry me in oil if it meant I would die painfully. So, of course, I decide to act like a weak but slightly deranged, emotionally dead little girl. To try pulling at any heartstrings he may or may not have. I drop the fork, and pull my knees to my chest. He doesn't react, in fact, and just walks in, pushes the door to, and stomps over to me. Before he can speak, I ask him a question. In my English accent, "Where am I?" "Germany. In a highly secure base, full of Nova victims and humans trained specifically to end the lives of people like you." This guy is evidently cheerful, too... He keeps talking, anyway. "I'm in charge of an organisation who attempts to spread world peace. And then there's you, a 14 year old girl who has murdered hundreds and hundreds and still tries to look weak in front of me. You're a monster. Welcome to Quantum." Quantum? I'm in Quantum? The guy pulls out a knife. A dagger, jagged blades, large. "My name's Cross. I'm going to be asking you a few questions. And to start, what is your power?" I'm shocked. The supposed good side of this war is threatening me for answers? "I... I don't know," I whisper. "Oh, but you do." He pushes the blade to my skin. "I'm not scared of you." I say. Possibly the stupidest thing to say. The blade is stabbed into just below my collarbone before I can flinch. And the pain is horrible. Not as bad as my arm or what I have had, but experiencing pain doesn't build up a threshold. At least, not for me. "We'll come back to power, okay?" I hate this man with all of my guts. His questions keep coming, and his blade keeps threatening me. He asks me about my scar, and when I honestly can't answer, he stabs me in it. I slump to the floor then, hearing the man shout in anger and his footsteps fade from my cell as blood pours from my wounds and my vision flickers.